Stayne
by MozartsRequiem
Summary: The life and times of Ilosovic Stayne: How the young boy, wide-eyed in Underland bled to become the cruelest lieutenant to Iracebeth of Crims. Stayne/Iracebeth in a strange way with hints of Stayne/other characters including Stayne/Hatter
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE

The searing wind whipped up around the pair. The Marble Desert of Underland stretched to unreachable, flickering horizons that encircled them. He limped alongside her, squinting in the heavy, pale sunlight. The leather patch over his left eye was most uncomfortable in the heat and his left arm panged from where he had been stabbed in the fight. He was terribly weary and terribly desperate for water or at least relief from the blazing metal shackle that had been rubbing his wrist raw ever so slowly for the past two days.

Ilosovic and Iracebeth had been bound to each other. They had battered each other. They had bruised and bloodied each other. Her legs finally buckled. She brought Ilosovic tumbling down with her. The powdery dust that rushed low across the hard, wrinkled ground swept over the pair. The fall had knocked the wind right out of ilosovic's lungs and it did not help to gasp and have that fine, salty dirt rush into his struggling lungs. Iracebeth sat up, her torn, ruby skirts splayed out around her like shriveled rose petals. When Ilosovic managed to peel himself up to kneel weakly beside her, he noticed the lengthy rip up the side of her dress. Something silver glinted at her thigh. It was a pristine knife, he thought, that was in a thin sheath, which was wrapped around her thigh. She had not used it, not once. She had not even threatened to, not even when, just hours ago, they were gripping each other's throats and trying to strangle one another…

"I knew he would stop me." Ilosovic rasped to her. She looked at him, finally,

"Who?"

"Hightop, The Hatter. I knew he would not let me stab you." This angered her and brought color into her dusty cheeks. She still had strength to fight, apparently. When she had clawed at him the day before, cursing him to hell, kicking at his wobbling, long legs with her jewel studded shoes, Ilosovic was surprised indeed at how much damage the lady could do. With his hurt arm, he had had absolutely no hope of overpowering her in her frenzy…

"You shouldn't have tried, then!" and she gave a fierce yank to the chain that joined her wrist to his. He hissed at the pain and the idea of another bruise blackening under his skin. But he persisted,

"I should have. Suppose we ever went back…"

"We can't. Not ever. Not never…"

"Suppose we do. I was supposing we might," he panted, the wound in his arm screaming out to him, "and I thought 'if we ever did go back, perhaps the White Queen would think I truly did hate you'. Then, at least, she might let me return and from there, Your Majesty, I could have begged to save you, to say you had changed…"

"You do hate me, Stayne. You're a liar. You would have told me this before if this was your plan all along!" And she prodded his chest with a boney finger, looking more cross than ever, "And why would you have been fighting me all this time if…"

"It was you who struck first, your Majesty…"

"It was you!" She barked. Ilosovic knew that he could not waste his strength on one more fight. He knew he had to calm her as quick as he could.  
"No, Your Majesty…The heat is getting to you. It was you. You were so furious at me. For these past days I have been but defending myself…" he took a breath,

"No! You were fighting to kill me!"

"I could kill you right now if I liked, Your Majesty. I am a trained soldier. If I truly did wish you ill will I would have strangled you the moment we were released in this place…" Iracebeth considered this,

"Stayne…" in her strange, weary tone, there was no inkling of what she felt exactly. "I am horribly, horribly confused…"

"You were so angry."

"I wanted to kill you! Why did you not say something before. What if I had killed you?"

"You would not have understood." He told her, brushing a lock of his matted black hair from his face,  
"I barely do now…"

"Exactly," Ilosovic drew in a long breath, "And I fought because I couldn't have had you kill me. There would be no separating yourself from my corpse had I allowed you to do so. You would have had the burden of the weight body to drag with you through exile. I would not do such a thing to you. "

"Stayne…" And now he knew what she felt. She took his face in her hot hand (the one without the manacle wrapped tight around it). He gave her a fast kiss with his splintering lips.

She smiled a smile he knew very, very well,

"I am glad I am with you."

"Your Majesty…" Ilosovic began,

"I think we are to die out here. I am glad we will die together…"

"Don't. No, no, Your Majesty, you must not think in such a dismal way.." He told her over the blowing winds that encouraged her curls into more of a frenzy,

"There is no other way to think. Life has been awfully unfair to me…"

"It does not have to continue to be so unfair. There is a village, I am sure, a ways from here…"

"A ways!" she sighed, running her fingers over her enormous forehead, which was dripping with glinting threads of sweat, "You know we will not last a ways in this heat in this dust in this dreadfulness. And my head hurts like it used to and my neck hurts worse…And I'm thirsty and I am royal and I should never, never, never be thirsty…"

"Perhaps, Your Majesty, you should remove your dress, as I have removed my armor…" he imagined his silver breastplate miles behind them, the wind rushing over it, the shadows it created becoming home to some nasty desert lizard….

"How humiliating if we are ever to be found or ever to find that village…"

"Better to be humiliated than dead, Your Grace."

"Is it?"

"At the moment."

"It has come to this…" The Queen ordered, "Free me from this heavy hot thing. Just do it."

His fingers knew the back of her gown, but it was quite hard for him to untie her bodice when his fingers were swollen from the heat and one of his arms was bound to hers. However, Ilosovic managed.

Iracebeth wriggled out of the thick dress. The Red Queen was left in her petticoats, corset, bloomers, and stockings. He could imagine that her skin, which was, until now, untouched by the desert sun, burned when the dust drilled into it. But she sighed,

"Better. That is better."

"Shall we move on?"

"Yes."

"We must go North, Your Majesty…" He had just enough strength to take her hand in his and help her to her feet. The chain connecting their wrists clanked together. The silver knife secured at her thigh gleamed brilliantly, for an instant or two, in the white-hot sunlight. Ilosovic stood several heads taller than her on his wobbling, long legs,

"How far?"

"I told you, a ways."

"Are you lying to me?" said the Queen,

"No. There is a town. It is a place for trade, Your Majesty…"

"About us dying, I mean. I thought I would die in my own bed or I thought I'd die of laughter or eating too many chocolates…We are going to die, aren't we, Stayne." Her lip shook "And you're very, very cruel for giving me false hopes."

"Your Majesty." His voice was strained. And in grabbing her damp, pallid shoulder, another slicing bolt of pain leapt through his injured arm, "If we die, I will die with you."

"I don't like to think of it!" She looked ever so troubled and ever so old,

"Then don't think of it." Ilosovic tried to lift her trembling chin and look upon her face, but she resisted, utterly miserable. He tugged his right arm a bit, the restraints clacking, drawing her nearer to him. Iracebeth craned her neck to gaze up at her lieutenant.

"How can I not?"

` "It is very easy, Your Majesty."

And he kissed her like they had kissed a few times before. She wrapped her arms around his middle and squeezed tight as a snake. And Ilosovic let her. And he let the Queen kiss him so feverishly that she her chapped lips bled her blue blood, which was cool on his parched tongue. And he closed his eyes tight and knotted his fingers with hers, the shackles scraping together. He held her hand tighter than he had ever. And with his other hand, Ilosovic Stayne reached down, down, down the laced seam of Red Queen's corset and drew the knife from its black sheath at her side.

And in one movement, he brought down the glinting blade. The hand he held went limp and the woman he held fell backwards into the dust. Chains clacked. Blue blood rushed into the cracks in the earth.


	2. Chapter 1: Little Ilosovic Stayne

**PART ONE**

CHAPTER ONE

LITTLE ILOSOVIC STAYNE

"It has happened again! There were three tarts when I last looked and now there are only two! It is most unnerving to think that someone is taking them from right under my nose! No one is to leave the gardens!" The woman's shrill voice washed over all the stretches of groomed grass and even echoed off of the wall at the far side of the yard.

The boy sat in the shadow of a dandelion, as he had for the past two days. He had supposed that if the servants, who were dressed in red, had not looked there long enough to pluck the weed from behind the looming scarlet rose bush, that they would not be likely to discover him crouching there, his pale face covered in crumbs and his little hands drenched in dark jelly and sticky whipping cream.

This particular tart had been the hardest to steal out of the three he had carried across the garden. The queen, who had very high forehead, enjoyed taking her tea and tarts on a silk blanket at the east side of the sunny garden, near a golden tree such as the miniature boy had never seen before. But in the tree's indigo shadow, he found it easy to slink along under the bushes and sprint on his tiny little legs all the way to where the twisting, thin roots of the tree dug into the moist ground. From there he could easily snatch a sweet from the queen's golden plate, which sat dangerously close to the hem of her fine, fine skirts.

This afternoon, he had taken up the tart with extra care, for she was watching the glistening plate more closely than before. It was hard to lift and even harder to carry. Where as the queen, or anybody else in the royal court could simply take up the small sweet between their thumb and index finger, the mouse-sized boy struggled and strained to lift the tart above his head and onto his back, where it would sit comfortably, but feel as if it were bending his spine in the most wrong of ways. And the tart he was feasting on had fallen out of his grip when he ducked behind a large root of the tree, so he had to pick it up all over again, grunting and huffing while the Queen set down her tea cup daintily (and too quickly for his liking.)

But he had his prize now, though it was a bit dirty, and it sat before him, stretching an entire arms length in front of him. He could not eat more of it even though he hadn't had nearly enough to fill his twisting stomach. But the thought of that much more jelly, that much more cake (something which would have absolutely delighted him at his home as seeing his parents never allowed him sweets), made his stomach pang all the more. And having to glance back over his shoulder and see those countless blue ants, with not at all cheerful, beady eyes, across the way, devouring what he had left of yesterday's tart was, needless to say, unappetizing. So the small boy stood up, to go drink from a dewdrop to get the sappy taste from between his teeth.

"Is it not possible, Majesty…" he heard a man with a red sash say to the monarch, who had stood up to peer around the garden with her dark, frustrated eyes, "that you have forgotten and already eaten this missing tart?" And he saw the Queen tilt her head in a way that made him want to stop thinking about revealing his presence to her,

"If that were so, would you think me foolish?"

"No, Your Grace, certainly not. I meant to imply nothing at all, simply to suppose that…"

"Well, if that were so, I would think myself very foolish…" she was speaking so softly now that the boy strained to hear when she said something so quietly that she could not be heard by anyone save for the man in the red sash, who's eyes widened and lips turned down further at whatever she murmured darkly to him. And with that he turned from the Queen and announced boldly to the garden,

"The hounds! Fetch them, now!" And a single attendant, in all scarlet, with short hair and a meek face trotted off. The boy's heart shook. The dogs would certainly smell the jam.

"Are you intending on finishing that?" He heard a voice behind him ask. The boy turned to find a fat ant reaching for the powdered tart with a long antenna.

"No…Please eat it. Eat it as fast as you can!" He begged the ant, who lazily climbed on top of the tart to gnaw at it. "All of you! Please eat it quickly!" The boy tried, calling to all the ants peering out from the leaves. He hated to talk to them. He hated their black eyes and disgusting way of going about their business,

"We will eat as slow or fast as we'd like, thank you very much."

And as the boy searched for more dew so as to clean his jam stained shirt, he heard the baying of the King's pair of dogs. He had seen them two days past, trotting alongside their well-dressed master, with their curved ears held back and their faces stern and unpleasant. And now they rushed under one of the golden archways, their sharp teeth obvious in their open mouths when they bowed before their master's wife.

The small boy ran as fast as he could, ducking under the bottom of the rose bush, towards a part of the garden he had never ventured into.

"What would you ask of us, your Majesty?" He heard one of the dogs rumble,

"Find who has stolen my sweets these past three days and find him or her quickly, so as I do not lose faith in your noses and decide you are no longer of any use to my husband."

The boy fled and fled, looking this way and that for dew to wash off the hideous stain on his shirt that felt as if it were the blood of a murdered man now more than it felt like jam. A thorn reached down from the stem of a rose and tore the shoulder of his tiny, grey waistcoat. He yelped, but kept running over the mud.

The mud! He threw himself to the ground in his hurry and sullied his school clothes with the warm dirt (how his hooked-nosed mother would scold him if he ever returned…). He looked up and saw the hounds come crashing over the grass, their noses twitching and close to the ground.

One of them, who had a nasty cut across its snout, gave an ear splitting bark and, ignoring the sting of the thorns, stuck its face through the branches of the bush. It tore the dandelion out of the ground with its jaws and snorted into the faces of the ants, who scattered and hid in the dark places around the ivy that clung to the great, stone wall.

The boy thought the danger had passed when that hound shook the leaves from its huge head and wheeled back to tell the Queen what he'd found. However, the other dog was sitting low to the ground, staring at the dark places under the hedges. His eyes orange eyes passed over the place where the boy cowered, but then returned there, his ears pressing close to his head. The boy jumped to his feet when the hound stood and started towards him. He did just as the ants did and grabbed at the ropes of ivy on the wall. The boy began his furious climb with the snarling hound fast approaching. Up, up, up and then down. The dog swatted him from the wall. Again the boy found himself face first in the mud. The hound's hot breath beat down upon his back, ruffling his clothes and stinking horribly.

"Please, please, please!" The boy begged, too scared to be ashamed of how pitiful he sounded. The dog didn't respond, but simply hooked the rim of the boy's knickers on one of its yellow fangs and lifted him up. It was painful to be hoisted by his pants and most uncomfortable to have the dog's drool run down his back. And the hound didn't care at all for his comfort, not that he expected it to. The dog trotted rather quickly with its prize hanging from its lips so that the boy swung back and forth back and forth, his tired legs batting against the animal's tough jaw. And then he felt his left side collide with the coldness of the silk picnic blanket.

He was muddy and slobbered upon and horrifically unfit to be looking at the ruby-studded, golden-laced shoes of a queen. She was so tall compared to him that looking up at her face would have strained his neck. But her voice boomed from far above,

"What in Underland…is that?"

"It is a faerie, by my guess." Growled the dog while his comrade bent over to sniff at the boy's back.

"A faerie? Why, I have not seen a faerie since my youth." Came the Queen's strained voice again, this time it was nearer. He closed his eyes tight and clenched his jaw. "That is no faerie. It has no wings. Have you torn off its wings Threllon?" She scolded the dog,

"It had no wings to begin with, I swear, your Majesty. It was trying to climb the wall…"

"Well, it's filthy, whatever it is…" she turned and the hem of her gown swatted the boy in the face. "Attendants!" She thundered and he felt the ground quake with the footsteps of her scarlet-frocked servants, "My glasses, one of you. And you, lift this creature so I can see it. I do not wish to dirty my gloves…" And the boy braced himself when the man in the red sash's fingers descended towards him and then lifted him by the back of his ruined grey jacket. He came to rest in the man's sweating palm and he managed to sit up. He stared, his chest heaving, at the rosy curls at the back of the woman's head.

The Queen turned around to look at the tiny boy. She was so much larger than he was that she could have opened her mouth and swallowed him easier than she could have a tart. But she pursed her painted lips and narrowed her eyes, her thin eyebrows shifting over the gold rims of her heart-shaped spectacles. From so close, he could see how her chalky make-up faded near the tip top of her high forehead.

"It's a boy. A tiny, little boy." She said. Her breath, gusting onto his face, was far sweeter than the dogs'. It smelled of tea and sugar and mint and it was cool when she spoke. But her expression soon changed from puzzlement to an expression quite different. "And I don't quite know why he is not bowing…" The boy quickly shifted on the man's slowly slanting palm and went from his seat to his knees as fast as he could. When he brought his face up again, the Queen was smiling a thin smile that he liked very much. "Do you speak, boy?" For a moment, he wondered if he could,

"Yes." He answered and she raised those thin brows until he added, "…Your Majesty."

"Do you have a name, boy?"

"Ilosovic."

"Ilosovic, what? Ilosovic, what, of where?"

"Stayne. Ilosovic Stayne, your Majesty. Of…Up…"

"Hm."

"Your Grace," came the voice of the man in the red sash from behind Ilosovic, "Is this the creature who has been stealing your tarts?"

"He's far to small to take them." She said, then turning to the dog who had brought the boy to her. The hound tilted its head to the side before she gave it a swift kick. It yelped and its jeweled collar jingled when it tried to regain its balance, "Keep looking." And they padded off again; the one with the scratched snout was limping. And her dark gaze fell on the tiny boy again, "Ilosovic, where are you from did you say?"

"Up." She looked confused, "England."

"Is that far?"

"Quite far, your Majesty."

"It looks like it, by the state of your clothes." She noted and he inhaled her breath again. In a swift move, the Queen removed her glasses and handed them to one of her maids, who wore a black dress with gold gloves, "I take it you drank pishsolver and it made you this small?"

"I think so, Your Majesty."

"How did you come to be here?"

"I walked and walked and then a bird scooped me up, Your Majesty. It tried to feed me to its sons but I ran off and I made the acquaintance of a dragonfly who travels from your garden to its home...She took me over the wall. She said it would be very safe for me here…." He took a breath, "Your Majesty."

"I should very much like to keep him." Said the Queen to the man in the sash matter-of-factly. Ilosovic made to stand up, unsure if he wanted to stay or not… "I shall enjoy watching him be cleaned up. He would be a precious thing, I think, without the mud."

"Of course your Majesty."

He nearly drowned in the Queen's bath. He never learned how to swim and that was made clear when the maid lowered him into the golden tub. With a bark from the Queen, who sat on a plush stool near the looming vanity, the pale maid plucked Ilosovic out of the bubbles. His dirtied clothes (which were now very, very wet) stuck to his skin. He shivered when he was brought to the washbasin by the mirror. It was very shallow. His toes could touch the smooth bottom with a bit of effort.

"I do not wish to break him, Your Grace." Said the maid in a quiet voice. The Queen sat up,

"Ilosovic," she said, "You are quite old enough to wash yourself I take it?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Then do so." He obeyed, rubbing his little hands over his arms, squeezing the mud and jam and blood out of his shirtsleeves beneath the water. He did not look at the older women, "Look how fragile he is! " The queen chirped, "He's like a little mouse…" He tried not to frown when she compared him to a rodent. Of all things father would not approve of his son being called…"Give him some soap." The Queen commanded, without asking if Ilosovic cared for any. Ilosovic watched the fair-haired maid bring a bar of soap from a dainty table near the golden tub (which, to little Ilosovic, seemed a thousand miles away from the sink). She looked confused when she rose high above the washbowl.

"That won't do. It's far too big for him. Scrape off a piece with your nail." The Queen suggested, "Honestly, I thought it was obvious. I should be very put out if you continue to be so slow." The maid simply nodded submissively and peeled off a tiny piece of soap for Ilosovic, who caught it under the water. "Take his little coat." When the maid reached down to help the boy, her trembling fingers stirred the water around him so that bubbles rose up from the tiny cube of white soap. He saw the muck from his grey jacket fan out in the water. Now, he could feel the sting of where the thorn had torn him. But he could also feel the grime of his weeklong journey evaporating from him.

"Put your head under, Ilosovic" The queen's thin finger descended from above him and gently nudged him completely under the suds just as he plugged his nose. He floundered a bit but resurfaced taking in a gasping breath, foam from the soap puffing off of his lips. He heard the Queen's odd laugh again while he rubbed his eyes. "Oh! Now I can see his face properly! How darling." He did not like being called 'darling' one little bit. Well, perhaps one little bit. At any rate, she was far kinder than mother and she cared for him better.

They had made him clothes (which were red, of course). He felt as if he were dressed as an actor who was to perform Shakespeare. The stockings were tight and the slippers were odd looking and snug when he drew the fine laces. He wore, also, a tiny tunic. The queen had a servant hold a glittering mirror in front of him. His black hair was tied back neatly again with a bit of thread. And he thought he looked rather foolish, but didn't dare say so because the Queen was smiling again.

"There, now. Perfect." By this time, the sun was beginning to set outside the window. "I think I should like to hold him." She told the fair-haired maid, who carefully let Ilosovic balance on her palm.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"I shall bring him to dinner."

And Ilosovic held tight to the top of the Queen's gloved hand after being told not to touch the emerald ring on her middle finger. When a little frog in the queen's colors, who stood before the entrance to, what Ilosovic assumed was the dining hall, opened the huge door to allow the Queen through, the little boy was shocked to find the King himself at the end of a large, table. He was a broad shouldered man, well bred, and where his left eye should have been was a glittering eye-patch in the shape of a heart. He stood for the Queen, who curtsied to him just as Ilosovic was about to stand on her wrist to bow to the royal.

"Iracebeth, good evening."

"Alpheus, good evening." Said the queen seriously. Then she flashed a smile. An extended her left hand for it to be kissed by the king. His eyes found Ilosovic and he withdrew. As she passed the King, her husband, the Queen held out her hand as if she were showing off a new ring, "Look what a darling thing I found in the garden this afternoon."

"What is it?" And the king leaned in, his nose nearly touching Ilosovic's chest. He was near sighted, in his only eye, apparently. And when he was so close, Ilosovic could just see the wrinkles of his forehead. He was handsome, Ilosovic thought, like royalty should be. He had thin lips and a strong chin. His one eye that was displayed was dark, like his wife's, and his hair shone like quicksilver.

"It's Ilosovic. He's a boy. From England. He's drunk too much pishsolver." The Queen explained, walking again. Ilosovic looked down, over the side of the Queen's thumb and saw a fish in formal attire, standing upright on its tail, waddling beside the woman. He began to escort her to her seat, which was all the way at the other end of the room, at the far side of the stretching, bare, shining table. The slippery fish pulled out her ornate chair for her.

Ilosovic was jostled on her hand when she sat down even worse than he had been when she had curtsied. Then, the Queen gingerly rested her fingers on the edge of the table,

"Hop off." She instructed and he obeyed her, balancing across her hand as if it were a bridge. When he got on the table she told him, "Shoes off. Let's not get anything dirty." And he took off his slippers.

When he looked up at the dining hall, he realized how beautifully the light from the setting sun painted the pillars. The arching, polished windows were all shut tight, but none of the drapes were drawn. The ceiling was high. Ilosovic thought it was the highest ceiling he'd ever seen in a room (but he did not trust his judgment due to his new size, of course). The checkered marble tile was even impressive, though it was getting sort of slimy where the fish sloshed across it. However, before he could marvel any longer at the ruby chandelier that hung above the monstrous, oak table, dozens of servants swept into the room on quiet feet. They carried trays, upon trays, upon trays of foods such that Ilosovic had never even dreamt of. There were shining slices of meat, odd truffles, quiches, jams, all sorts of bread, fruits of such colors and sizes, and all other sorts of strange treats. He looked up at the Queen, who's face was stone. She was quite used to such a display. When the servants finally approached the table with all of the plates and things, she reminded them,

"Mind my new favorite." And nodded to Ilosovic, who, suddenly, was feeling oh so very important.

The Queen and King did not talk over dinner. They were much too far along the table from each other. And with so many marvelous foods, Ilosovic would never have thought they'd even have time for talking. He, of course, was told he could have anything he liked to eat. And after a week of filling his crying belly with dirty tarts, Ilosovic tried every different tasting thing that he could. . The Queen watched him eat and she seemed to be amused over the way he did so, commenting every once in a while on how funny his little hands were, where his mother would have scolded him over and over and perhaps told his father to give him a lashing for not bothering to use any cutlery. And as the boy wandered among the hams and tip-toed around fruits with unpleasant spikes, tearing off bits of truffles and the tiniest pieces of bread, he became very overwhelmed at his good fortune.

When night fell and dinner had finished, the Queen decided to retire for the night.

"I had them make up a bed for you." She told Ilosovic, who rode on her shoulder as she walked down the hallway, "Right by the window. You'll adore it." He was certain he would. Everything else in the palace had been better than a dream for him. He thought back to his previous few evenings, which he had spent high up in some tree or in the mud with a rotting cake beside him. Now, he was entering the private quarters of a King and Queen to stay the night and many nights thereafter.

"Thank you, for everything, Your Majesty." He extended, when another fish (this one looked like a cat fish), opened the double doors to the rooms beyond.

"You are quite, welcome." Said the Queen, looking ahead. The chamber was a lovely one. The walls were clean and high and painted scarlet, of course. The floors were checkered and polished so they almost seemed to be mirrors. Golden tables with diamond knick-knacks, golden chairs with the softest looking velvet cushions, and oil lamps of crystal that burned with beautiful white flames furnished the royal suite.

A woman waited there, too. She was a lady in waiting, it seemed and she bowed low to the monarch while Ilosovic adjusted himself atop the Queen's sleeve.

"I have made arrangements for your favorite." She said. The woman had dark hair and a small nose and her voice was very solemn. She looked to Ilosovic and studied his pale face for a moment,

'Yes. Where?"

"On the balcony."

"Suppose it rains? What a silly notion. On the balcony..."

"Safe under the canopy, your Majesty, I assure you." The woman nodded slowly and then drew the thick curtain that hung to the left. When the red fabric was pushed aside, a lovely, circular space. It stretched out to an ornate railing and it was all wide open for the summer air to float through. The ceiling was of velvet and held up by long golden poles. It was a glorious place, with an even more glorious view. The mountainside was just turning violet in the twilight and the palace was aglow with red lanterns. On the far side of the balcony was a gold plated cage…

"There, Your Majesty?" Ilosovic asked,

"Mhm." She replied to his dismay. He did not want to be stuffed up in a cage. Not one bit. "No one will steal you away in their pockets this way." She said, taking a ring of keys from a pocket inside her bodice.

"Could I, perhaps, stay with you, your Majesty?" He tried. But she plucked him from her shoulder and set him down in her other hand,

"Not so bold." She scolded, her eyes hard. Then, her face found its gentleness again while she added in her sugary tone that he should have liked, "I would like you to stay with me, perhaps on my pillow, but I could not risk having the King roll about in his sleep and crush you." Ilosovic heard the lady in waiting open the gilded cage behind him. The heart-shaped door gave a soft clang when it tapped against the bars. "If I wake during the night, I shall visit you, I think." The Queen told Ilosovic before wishing him "Goodnight." and leaning near to kiss his tiny head.

He would have thought that a kiss from a Queen was a very, very nice thing had he not been about to be locked up in a cage like bird. "Tomorrow we will have such a fine day." And he saw her face grow a bit smaller and then she was framed by the inside edges of that heart shaped door. And the warmth of her hand beneath her glove left his feet. He was set down carefully in the little cage, which had a few handkerchiefs folded in the corner for a place for him to sleep.

"Goodnight, Your Majesty." He said, his voice very small while the Red Queen locked the door without a second thought.


	3. Chapter 2: Ilosovic's Visitor

CHAPTER TWO  
ILOSOVIC'S VISITOR AND THE RED QUEEN'S MALADY

Ilosovic didn't mind being small. He thought he would mind it a great deal, but as it was, he could say he was terribly excited at being carried about by a Queen and not having to walk a single step if he didn't feel like it. She had taken to letting him ride upon her head. But it was quite hard to hold onto her curls without tugging them hard and making her gasp. He wished she had a crown (he never dared ask her why she did not wear one), for him to grip.

And eventually, he was able to sleep well in his cage, especially after the Queen ordered that her finest whittler whittle him a little bed and some furniture. And it kept out all the creepy crawlies that made noises in the darkness at night. Well, it kept all of them out but one…

"Two weeks in the Red Queen's pocket and she's trained you to like being kept in a cage?"

Ilosovic sat up with a start. The purring voice seemed to have come from the night breeze that swept through the golden bars. He stood up and tossed away the folds of the silk handkerchief he rested in. The small boy sprinted to the side of the cage to look below, at the floor, to seek the owner of that voice. No one was on the balcony, he thought. But when he turned around, there it was. A great cat, hovering there with its grinning face pushed up against the door of the cage, which swayed ever so slightly from side to side in the wind. Ilosovic gasped and stumbled back. The cat chuckled at him,

"My, my… She has indeed stolen your sting, Mister Stayne." Said the cat. Now, more than ever, Ilosovic was glad to be in his cage. The cat had such teeth, sharp and shining with a mother-of-pearl luminescence. The boy, while he stared at the floating feline, could not begin to decide which was worse, the animal's stretched out smile or its electric eyes which burned as bright as the lantern at the far side of the balcony. "Has she also stolen your voice, Ilosovic?"

"How do you know my name?" The boy demanded, trembling,

"There's talk about the castle and I do my bit of eavesdropping when I get bored with goings on in the forest or the White Queen's palace…which is fare nicer than this ruby rubbish pile, I must say." Ilosovic didn't know why he felt insulted and didn't know why he had never heard of a White Queen before. How could there be two Queens in one land?

"What do you want?"

"Just popping in for a visit, really." The cat explained, soaring above Ilosovic, its thick fur rippling. It came to rest again, floating upside down at the opposite end of the cage, peering through the bars. Ilosovic stood up, "Do you think I'd like to take a bite out of you?"

"I wouldn't know. But even if you did want to, you can't get me in here, so I'm not very afraid of you."

"Perhaps you should be." And the cat, as if it were just an apparition, stuck its frizzy head through five bars so that its face was within the cage and its well-fed body was still hovering outside. Ilosovic jumped again and the cat chuckled once more, "I would not enjoy eating you…"

"Please, could you go away?"

"I could."

"Will you?" Ilosovic's voice crackled and the cat gave another smile,

"Of course, eventually…." He then instructed the child, "Sit down. You're about to buckle with your kneecaps knocking so badly…" Ilosovic sat down on the cool bottom of the cage. "First, tell me everything you know about yourself…"

"Why?"

"Because once you do. I'll let you alone. If not, you can feel free to sleep. I'll just stay right here all night…"

"And then the Queen will catch you in the morning…"

"Ah," the cat said, flaring its pink nostrils and chortling deep in its throat, "That would be most awful if she were to catch me, wouldn't it? She'd have my head chopped right off…"

"That's right."

"She's trained you well, I see…" noted the feline, inching nearer, "But, regrettably, I can disappear from here faster than your Red Queen could bat her painted eyelids. So, I'm not too worried." And for a moment it looked as if the cat's head had, indeed, separated from its body while it smiled. Then, the animal continued, "Now then, Ilosovic, do tell me about yourself…"

"My name is Ilosovic Stayne, I am eleven, and I used to live in England…" Ilosovic said as bitterly as he could manage being so frightened of the cat,

"So you are not from Underland?"

"From where?"

"Here! Here is Underland. Stars, my boy, you have not even bothered to figure out where you are?"

"Well it's probably a dream so…"

"And what if it is not…would you ever care to return to where you came from? England?"

"I don't think I would…even if I could."

"Can't you return there?"

"I fell." Ilosovic told the cat, "down a well. It was a broken one, without water, while I was on holiday with my terrible brother..."  
'Well that was clumsy of you…"

"I was trying to hide from…"

"…your terrible brother, I'd wager? And what made him so horrid that you had to escape, stupidly, down a well?"

"He treats me like he's my father."

"Oh, what a sin!" Ilosovic knew the cat was being sarcastic, "It's not as if he would know a great deal more than yourself," chortled the cat, "and it's not as if he is likely to have advised you never to climb down into wells…"

"I don't like you very much, Cat." Ilosovic said, feeling less afraid and far angrier than he had during the entire conversation. Who was an animal to call him stupid?

"What a pity." The cat licked its chubby paw twice and pulled its head out of the cage, leaving a trail of sweet smelling smoke in its wake.

"And for your information, I'm glad I fell in. I'm quite glad I got far, far away from my boring brother and his nasty wife."

"Because now you get to live like a Prince, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Well, I don't know of any Princes who spend much of their time in cages…" And with that, the Cat disappeared entirely. Leaving no trace but a ring of that strange smog that followed it,

"I don't mind the cage." Said Ilosovic half to himself and half to the cat, whom he didn't think had left him alone.

"You might." Came the cat's purr from nowhere, "You might mind it a bit when the Red Queen forgets she enjoys you so much and you spend more time in here than you do on her fingers…" Ilosovic had not thought of this, but he didn't let the cat know that,

"She won't get bored with me."

"Did you ever have a pet, Ilosovic?"

"A cat."

"And when you got it as a kitten, you spent every moment you could coddling it as if it were your little baby…"

"I didn't coddle it." He had, of course.

"Cuddle, then, if not coddle…it's what you do with kittens. No one has ever not coddled their kitten if they've had one. But that's beside the point. When the kitten grew older, bigger…" the cat's electric, sea green eyes appeared above the cage; a shocking contrast to the red velvet canopy, "how much attention did you lavish upon it?"

"I know what you're getting at and the good news for me is I won't ever get bigger." And Ilosovic, straining his neck to see so high up by the ceiling, saw the cat's smile appear below its eyes. "I won't." And the cat grinned even wider with those mother-of-pearl teeth, "And I wouldn't want to, even if I could." And then the face was gone for good and Ilosovic felt very, very alone and small on the balcony…

And when he finally fell asleep again, he had the most dizzying of dreams.

_The darkness of the well would not stop and the walls seemed to have fallen away with him. He was upside down and backwards and his black hair was in his eyes and mouth because of the gusts of wind that swept up from nowhere. And then, falling beside him were candles burning upside down with green fire, and singing cabinets, and a floundering salmon, and a viola, and all sorts of things that one should never ever find at the bottom of a well. No wonder it was all dried up. There was no end to it. There was no water. And the air was musty and he was falling too fast to scream any more. He was sure his heart had stopped and he was sure and terrified that he had died and was falling down, down, down to meet the Devil. _

Ilosovic always woke before he hit the marble floor in his memory.

Fiore waked him. She was younger and frailer than the lady in waiting who had tended to him when he first came to the palace, who had, in fact, been recently beheaded for her tardiness on two occasions. Fiore had thin brown hair (which was always tied back with a ribbon, as she was young), very kind eyes, and a slanted smile.

"Good morning Ilosovic." She said softly, "The King is still sleeping and Her Majesty is having her nose powdered."

"Does she want to see me?"

"She hasn't asked for you yet," his chest tightened, "but you had better get dressed just incase she calls for you soon…" And Fiore opened the cage with a key she had been given by the Queen and set a neatly pressed tunic and a pair of stockings near the door. And then, she turned her back and looked over the edge of the balcony while Ilosovic dressed.

"Does it seem…" he asked hesitantly, "that the Queen is getting bored with me?" He could not see Fiore's expression, for she was turned strictly away, but she answered after a time,

"No."

"Truly?"

"Are you afraid she is bored with you?"

"You can turn around now." He said. He hadn't every truly been friends with a girl. But besides the queen and the cat, he really didn't have anyone to speak with, "And I am worried. If I weren't, I wouldn't have asked."

"Forgive me for such a silly question." He did not accept her apology. He simply nodded. It felt very good to sort of order someone around, "You are right to be worried, though." She told him seriously, putting her pale, sort of made-up face near the cage, "She goes through pets very quickly…"

"I am not a pet. I am a person…"

"Well, favorites. She has a new one every month." Fiore paused and looked very sad, but Ilosovic didn't notice,

"Let me walk on the railing…"

"What if you should fall?"

"I'm not going to fall." He scoffed, standing in the heart-shaped door of the cage,

"How can you know?" Fiore worried,

"I just do."

"I won't let you. I cannot have you fall! I cannot have you dead or have my head off like Opinna!"

"If you don't let me, I'll tell the Queen you are very nasty to me and she will take off your head."

"You are very naughty." She mumbled, her eyes drooping as she rubbed her sweaty hands together,

"I shall tell her you said that and she won't believe you…"

"Fine. I will let you walk along the rail. But, I will shield you with my hand, at least. Just in case."

"I'll bite you."

"Then bite me. But I do not want to get in trouble…" She whispered, bringing her thin wrist up so that he could step upon it, "I'm supposed to lock you up once I've given you your clothes…" But she brought him to the edge of the balcony anyway and set him down on the stone. He had never been there. And once he was on the rail, he wasn't sure he wanted to be. But Fiore would not find that out,

"It is very far."

"Yes!" She said, flushing with anxiety and holding her hand at his side so he would not fall, "Yes it is very far, Ilosovic. Perhaps you'd better hold on to me…"

"I shouldn't like to." He said, taking his first step and finding it to be quite easy if he just kept looking ahead…

"Oh!" Fiore exhaled, "What if the wind should get you…" He dared to peer down, between her fingers. There was a moat there…with bunches and bunches of bobbing heads floating there…And he stumbled a bit and Fiore was fast to clutch him in her fist and lift him. He wriggled. She was squeezing his legs too tightly, "This is a terrible, awful idea, Ilosovic!" And he bit her; he bit her very hard indeed. Ilosovic bit Fiore so hard that her thumb started to bleed. She yelped in pain and dropped the little boy.

Ilosovic landed on her slipper. He was not hurt, but he rolled from the shoe and glared up at the girl, who was covering her mouth with her bleeding hand.

"Ilosovic!" She panicked, kneeling, her light eyes wide, "Ilosovic I'm sorry! Are you hurt?"

"If I am, the Queen will be cross…"

"I know! I know!" She was crying,

"You're lucky I'm not. But your screaming probably woke the King…"

"Oh, I know!" A salty, crystal tear of hers fell upon him and soaked his hair. Just then, the Queen's voice came, muffled, from beyond the curtained entrance to the balcony,

"What has happened?"

And then came the King's voice, which was not very cheerful,

"I don't bloody know…" And Fiore cried harder,

"Ilosovic…Ilosovic…" she whimpered, "Please help me. Please, I'll be awfully extra nice to you forever."

"Will you?"

"Yes! Nicer than anybody! Just help me. Don't let her cut off my head…"

"If you promise…"

"I promise! I'll do anything for you that you ask, even if the Queen does not allow it. I promise. I'll be the best of friends to you!"

"Help me up into the cage." He said and she scooped him up in her shaking, pale hands and let him back into the golden cage. The tears on her fair face were turned to rose pink in the morning sunlight. Ilosovic thought people looked terribly silly when they cried….

"What do we do? How do we…"

"What is this?" Asked the Queen. She came through the curtain very quickly. So quickly that Fiore gave a little gasp, "Girl. WHAT IS THS? Why the noise? It is unacceptable…" she towered over the brown haired girl who could only squeak,

"I'm sorry…"

"She thought I had died, Your Grace." Ilosovic blurted and the Queen's eyes changed. She raised a thin eyebrow, "I was sleeping so soundly, Your Majesty, she thought I snuffed it."

"I did, Your Majesty" Fiore dared, "I thought you would kill me because I hadn't taken good care of him…"

"You've not been caring for him well?"

"Your Grace, no!"

"No," Said Ilosovic, "She's been caring for me very well. I could not be happier, Your Majesty…"

"I was worried I had done something foolish, your Majesty."

"But she didn't, Your Majesty."

"Hm…" The Queen pursed her lips and eyed Fiore. "The King will give me grief all day for being disturbed." And she slapped the girl hard, so that some of Fiore's tears stained her white glove. The young lady in waiting did not make a sound. She did not even rub her swollen cheek when she regained her balance. "That is all the punishment I shall administer to you. However…" And then, it was the Queen who cried out. She squinted her eyes tightly and gritted her teeth. Her hand, with Fiore's tears upon it, flew to her own aching temple, "Stars…" She hissed. Ilosovic and Fiore looked to each other in surprise,

"Your Majesty!" They then exclaimed together when the Red Queen staggered to the edge of the wide balcony, holding her head,

"Oh…Oh…" She moaned, "This headache again. It is unending. It is worse every day." Ilosovic had never known her head to hurt this terribly, "With every movement I make. It feels like my skull is to explode…" And the King appeared between the curtains in his nightclothes, his silver hair mussed, looking very angry indeed. That is, until he saw his fainting wife…

"Iracebeth…" He went to her speedily. When he turned, Ilosovic and Fiore noticed that he had not donned his eye patch. It was a shock. His left eye was glazed over with mold-blue cataracts that made Ilosovic's stomach turn.

"Alpheus…" she put her aching head on his chest, wearily. She grimaced, "I would like a healer."

"I should think so, my dear." Alpheus said, holding his wife around her waist, with a tense arm. And then the King turned his strange, sickening eye and his cold, cold, black one upon the two children, "You heard her. Stop standing there like daisies rooted to the floor, go and fetch the healers." He did not have to yell. Fiore jumped and hurried out of the room.

"Shall I come with, Your Majesty?" Ilosovic called from across the balcony, watching the Queen squirm and groan while she gripped her husband's shoulder tight. Neither the King nor the Queen answered the tiny boy in the cage.

Alpheus heard, but did not care to worry about his wife's pet and Iracebeth could not even hear her favorite call to her, her head was throbbing so unbearably. And when healers dressed in white robes and red shoes and red gloves rushed onto the balcony, they helped the woman away to her room.

Ilosovic was left there in the morning light with the door of his golden cage left wide open. He heard the Queen scream from her bedroom when she had to lie down and he was terribly worried. He paced the cage a few times, running his little hand through his black hair and then finally coming to a most dangerous decision. He would go to the Queen's room. He knew she would want him by her side…

And so, Ilosovic fashioned a miniscule, rope out of the handkerchief that he used for bed sheets and tied one end of it to the first bar at the door to the cage. Then, he gathered up he courage and slid down to the end of it, hanging on as tight as his little hands could. When he slid down the silk, he did not even glance down at the floor. He now knew how it would spook him. And he swung his tiny body as if he were on the rope swing at his brother's summer cottage. He swung so that the handkerchief swayed violently this way and that. He could nearly touch the golden stand upon which his little cage sat. And then, Ilosovic let go and flung himself towards that stand. He collided with the metal and hung on very tightly despite the throbbing pain. Taking deep breaths, the boy slid down the stand very slowly, his hands getting sweatier and sweatier and achier and achier. Finally his trembling feet reached the tiled ground. He had never been on the floor. Ilosovic gazed up to see the bottom of his cage so very high above him. He would never be able to climb back up.

After taking a moment to breathe, Ilosovic sprinted towards the slip of shade below the thick velvet curtains. As he neared them, as they seemed to loom even higher, he heard the Queen again,

"It hurts! It hurts!"

Ilosovic slid beneath the curtain and into the cool darkness of the Royal chambers. He was nearly stepped upon by one of the King's portly attendants. Ilosovic ducked out of the way just in time. Then, he followed the man, staying near the wall in the shadows. The Queen's huge bedroom, which Ilosovic had never ever seen, was filled with healers and maids and butlers and fish and frogs. The bed was scarlet with golden pillows upon which the Red Queen's hurting head rested.

The King sat beside her, watching as a healer stared at his wife with a glittering, copper rimmed magnifying glass that had a few knobs on its handle. Another healer was mixing a tonic for her by the window. Ilosovic stayed very still, trying to avoid the gaze of two quietly conversing frogs.

The healer closest to the Queen set down the magnifying glass and took off his soft red gloves. He felt her head and she shrieked,

"Forgive me, Your Grace." He told her nervously,

"Do take care." The king warned. Ilosovic watched while the healer gingerly put his fingers to the Queen's forehead, frowning. When Ilosovic felt it was safe for him to scurry to the gold nightstand, he did.

"It is nothing I can treat, Your Majesty."

"Oh!" The Queen wailed, holding her husband's hand horribly tight. Ilosovic saw the King's leg twitch in pain when her nails found his palm,

"But it is most definitely not fatal, Your Majesty."

"Is it crippling?" The Queen whimpered,

"It shouldn't be, Your Majesty."

"What is it?" The King asked, his voice strained,

"It is a growth, Your Majesty."

"A growth!" The Queen yelped, "Get it out! Get it out!"

"I'm afraid that is impossible, your Majesty."

"No! No! No! Get it out of me! I do not wish to have a growth! I want nothing less than to have some silly achy growth in my head!" And then she hissed in pain and shut her mouth,

"What will happen?"

"Headaches for quite some time. But once it has finished expanding, the pain will stop, Your Majesty." The healers looked at each other and then the man spoke again, "And The Queen's head is to grow with it. To make room…"

"I see…" said Alpheus quietly while his wife cried,

"Oh, no…Oh,no…Oh,no…"

"My Ilosovic…" The Red Queen's blurry eyes opened to see the little boy climbing up over her pillow. The room had turned blue. All the shutters and shades had been drawn to keep out the irritating afternoon sunlight. The queen had a bulbous bag of ice upon her head. "Ilosovic, how did you manage to get out?"

"I broke the lock, Your Majesty." He lied, so that Fiore would not get into trouble,

"It was a perfectly good one…" she sighed miserably,

"I thought I'd like to see you, Your Grace. I was very worried…" And she was crying again,

"This is horrid. This is all so horrid. I hope my sister gets a growth!" She sucked in a breath, "And I hope her head grows even bigger and fatter than mine does…" She had often talked of her sister, though she never mentioned her name or who she was outright.

Ilosovic did what he thought she would like best when she rolled onto her back to stare up at the ceiling. When she squinted her eyes closed and two fat tears fell from her eye, the little boy hurried to smear them away with his tiny palms. This, however, only made her sob even harder, though Ilosovic did not know why. "Oh! And it hurts to cry!" She mourned, "I hope it does not hurt to laugh, if I ever can laugh again."

And then, Ilosovic saw her hand move beneath the sheets. She made to pat his head with her finger and he went to her to make it easier for her. The Queen did pat his head and cried louder. And then, the lady swept him up and clutched him to her chest like a little doll.

Ilosovic was rather uncomfortable. Though her collar was soft, she was pressing him to her quite tightly and her uneven breaths between sobs were hot and loud in his tiny ears. And when she inhaled shakily, he was compressed further between her palm and her chest. In fact, he thought he might suffocate…

"My dear!" It was the King who called from the end of the room, "Crying will worsen the pain…Must I have a draught concocted to make you sleep?" And then he must have seen Ilosovic in her hand, "That boy. You'll be kept awake whether you take a potion or not with him to distract you." The light from the door that the King had come through was burning and bright and the Queen shut her eyes to it,

"I-I would like to have him here, Alpheus"

"I insist you shut him away for today." The king said firmly. Ilosovic felt his fingers try to pry him away from the Queen, who clutched the boy tighter, "Iracebeth…" Alpheus' voice quieted and the Queen whimpered, "What if you crush him? I will stay with you." Ilosovic could breathe again when her grip upon him slackened in defeat. The King's hands were colder and rougher than the Queen's.

And Ilosovic found himself in his cage and never out of it for three long days. Fiore tended to him and informed him. And the Cat appeared one night to smile a simple,

"I told you so."


	4. Chapter 3: Upelkuchen

CHAPTER 3

OF UPELKUCHEN AND UNACCEPTABLE BEHAVIOR

The Red Queen was in such misery. She was taken to a pretty, little safe haven upon the mountainside beyond her palace. And so it was for five years: Her Majesty would retreat to the hot springs at the far side of the dusty canyon for about seven weeks at a time. When she was not resting in her sanctuary, she would reside in the castle, carrying out her business, groaning about her head, etc.

Ilosovic and Fiore were, at first, invited by the Queen to join her. It was a truly, truly lovely place to rest. The hot springs had frothy, emerald water that smelled of caramel candies. The rocks around the place were dusty red, like all of the hills.

"My sister has no place as fine as this place." The Queen boasted one morning. She wore loose fitting linens and had her ruby hair put up very tightly. Two very strong attendants (who Ilosovic guessed were squires or, perhaps, guards who were not stationed in the palace) supported the Queen's throbbing head. They cradled her cranium with care and did not speak one word. Only the Queen's head rested in the warm water. Her shoulders and the rest of her laid on the row of pillows that had been placed on the flat rock for her. The steam rose around her face, which was without much powder (she looked younger, actually), for the heat had melted it all from her nose.

Ilosovic sat in Fiore's moist palms. The young lady in waiting stood beside the soldiers and had lifted the boy so that the Queen could see him properly and speak to him. Her arms got tired very often but she didn't mention that to the Queen.

"You know, Ilosovic," The Red Queen would say, "my sister would have no where to retreat if this had befallen upon her…"

The Red Queen's sister was, as Fiore had informed Ilosovic, The White Queen. Her name was Mirana. She was a few years younger than Iracebeth, however, she currently ruled Underland. Ilosovic did not understand why…

"The people adore her." Explained Fiore in a quiet little voice one night, peering through the bars of Ilosovic's cage. "They decided they'd much rather follow the White Queen…"

"But why?" Ilosovic questioned from his seat on his tiny bed,

"I've never lived outside the palace," the girl said, glancing over her shoulder to be sure that the King or Queen was not stirring beyond the velvet curtain, "so it's all just what I have heard. The White Queen is said to be far gentler…"

"Who would prefer a gentle ruler to a smart one?"

"People don't like to be afraid of their Queens, I suppose. You must admit," Fiore said, her voice below even a whisper, "that The Red Queen is rather terrifying sometimes. It gives me gooseflesh all over when she looks at me in a certain way, in that very stern way…"

"I suppose." Ilosovic shrugged, not letting on how awful and horrible he knew the Queen's dark eyes to be,

"And the White Queen has taken vows, I hear," Fiore continued, "to never harm a single living creature. People admire that more, I believe, than someone who takes the head from one member of her court ever week or two…"

"Can the Red Queen ever rule again?"

"It doesn't seem likely, does it…"

"No…" Ilosovic admitted, giving a great yawn. Fiore smiled at the little boy though the bars,

"Are you very tired?"

"A bit…"

"You look like you are about to fall right over." And she moved around the cage to the edge of the balcony to peer across the stretching courtyards below to gaze up at the looming clock tower. He watched Fiore as she walked. Her thin hair was combed by the autumn breeze and her dress made the faintest swish swishing noise when she moved. He thought that noise was rather annoying. "Goodness," she said to herself, seeing the time on the clock tower across the fortress , "It's nearly one o'clock…" and she turned again to the boy in the cage, "You had best get to bed…"

"I suppose we both should." She knew he would want her to stay by his side until he had fallen deeply asleep (though she never, ever expected him to admit that, especially not since he had just turned a year older). He often mentioned a peculiar cat that pestered him some nights…

Ilosovic slid into his bed and drew the silky handkerchief-sheets up to his little chin. Fiore had already put out the candles on the balcony. Ilosovic stared at the ceiling of the cage,

"Goodnight, Ilosovic."

"Goodnight."

But she would ask him a question after a few minutes of him just gazing upwards into the blackness,

"Do you miss your family, terribly?"

"No, " He lied, "I do not."

"I miss mine," She paused, "on occasion."

"Well I have no reason to miss mine. My parents were very nasty and my horrible brother was even worse…" It was strange for Ilosovic, saying 'were' and 'was' about his family instead of 'are' and 'is'.

"Oh?" came Fiore's slim, feathery voice,

"Nine years older than me." Ilosovic explained, "Mum and dad couldn't pay for my schooling two years ago because they sent my brother to the finest academy...And they arranged a marriage for him when he was just two years old and I would have had to find somebody wealthy to marry on my own because the only girls, besides my brother's wife, that my parents knew, were my cousins. I certainly would not have courted one of them…And my mum was very strict. My father was even stricter …but my brother was the worst because he was always so nice to me. I never had a true excuse to get him into trouble or hate him. And so I hate him for that…I think."

"I am very sorry…"

'It has all worked out for the better. They don't want to care for me and I could care less about them. And now, well," he smiled to himself, "this is like a dream…"

The boy and the girl were very quiet for a little while until…

"Do you suppose," speculated Ilosovic, his eyelids drooping. The pillow felt wonderfully soft under his pale cheek, "that the Queen feels about her sister the way I feel about my brother?"

"I would guess it is awfully similar, Ilosovic." She noted while the boy yawned,

"I feel very badly for her then. I would be very mad if my brother were made king and I were not…" He turned over in his bed and shut is eyes.

"Perhaps that is why she is so very scary at times, hm?" And when no one answered her, Fiore looked over at the golden cage to see the small boy asleep and then, she moved to the balcony.

She took the railing in her fingers and leaned a bit over the edge to peer off into the inky shadows. Her pale eyes scanned the darkness far below the balcony. Suddenly, Fiore stood straighter. She glanced over her shoulder at the boy, the red curtain…and then, the lady in waiting rose up on her tiptoes to wave to someone in the yard. And Fiore whirled, her steps most quiet and her skirts swish swishing. Without a word, the lady in waiting hurried away beyond the velvet veil for the evening.

The Queen, eventually (after three years or so), no longer brought Ilosovic or Fiore to her remedial haven on the mountainside. She never gave an explanation as to why and Ilosovic and Fiore dared not ask. Fiore did not seem to mind this so much as Ilosovic did. He was always thinking of how the Cheshire Cat would smile at him if it got word.

But, Ilosovic's fears about being forgotten like a kitten who had grown to old were quelled one day when Fiore and he stood as the Red Queen returned home from another month long retreat upon the back of one of her shining horses (sitting in front of a guard who was keeping her, at this point, gargantuan head from tipping). The little boy and the young lady were waiting in the gardens for the monarch, along with the rest of the haughty court. The moment the Queen dismounted the horse (with the help of two attendants), she gave a smile to the crowd. King Alpheus approached her and kissed his wife's hand. Iracebeth exchanged a few soft sentences with her husband and then spotted Ilosovic,

"I need Ilosovic." She said, holding out her hand. It was the first time she had asked for him in months. Fiore lifted him by his middle and set him in the white glove of the Queen. His chest tightened. This sounded awfully important, "I must have the librarian meet me in the Florarium. " The Red Queen said to her advisor, a grey haired man named Circeo. She moved close to him to speak.

Ilosovic was no longer familiar with riding upon the back of the Queen's gloved hand and he clung to her finger, trying to relearn how one should sit. When he looked up, the boy saw the lady leaning ever so near to her grey-haired advisor's ear, "And he must bring every tome I own that has to do with…" She covered her mouth with her other gloved hand. And the Queen spoke of the subject of the books she required so quietly (Ilosovic felt a gust of air wash over him when she lifted her arm so quickly) that the boy and anyone else in the garden were left entirely clueless as to what it was.

"Of course." Circeo nodded and with a glance down at Ilosovic and sweep of his trailing cloak, began off across the garden towards the castle,

"Shall I attend to you, Your Majesty?" asked Fiore, starting to trot off after the Queen. Iracebeth stopped for a moment to consider,

"I must say…mmm…no. No, no, Fiore. I shall send for you when we have finished."

The Florarium a sort of greenhouse, it seemed, but one very unlike Ilosovic had ever seen (though, in Underland, he had come to expect that things simply became stranger and stranger). It had glass walls that were tinted amber and the light inside was hot and it boiled the air. The moment she stepped within the space, Ilosovic could see the powder on the Red Queen's face moisten with a bit of sweat.

"I have missed you, Your Majesty." Ilosovic told her honestly, looking up at her as they strode around a monstrous plant that had angry orange thorns that curled up at strange angles.

"Mhm," The Queen said, preoccupied , "I've missed you, too." Then, she turned a corner.

Ilosovic squinted. This section of the Florarium was flooded with the amber sunlight. When his eyes finally adjusted, he saw that they were approaching a lovely, oak table with a shining surface, "Here, Ilosovic." And she set him down amongst vials and shining containers of herbs and juices,

"What's this, Majesty?" The table was polished so well that his shoes nearly slid out from underneath him,

"I will tell you." The Queen said, her speech quick, "You are going to help me…" And she could not turn her huge head to see who had come in when the doors to the beautiful doors opened and shut at the other side of the Florarium. Ilosovic saw, though.

The librarian was a portly man, with shiny spectacles that, at the moment, rested on the tiptop of his head and wrinkles folding over his brow and beneath his beady eyes. He wove his way through the rows of kaleidoscopic greenery and finally approached the Queen. He had his arms folded across his chest and pressed to his belly, he carried a stack of five or so leather bound books.

"Majesty." He said, bowing low. Now, Ilosovic noticed, the Librarian was accompanied by a fish, who wore absolutely enormous, shining glasses.

"Majesty." Said the fish in the same tone. The Queen turned, shifting her entire body to speak to her servants. She raised her thin eyebrows,

"The books?"

"Yes?"

"Good. On the table." The Queen ordered. The Librarian, of course, obeyed. "Be careful of Ilosovic!" The Queen scooped up the boy so quickly that he yelped a little, most unsure of what had just happened. "You imbecile! You could have very easily crushed him!"

"Forgive me, your majesty! I did not see him!"  
"Then, your glasses, sir! Certainly you know what spectacles are for. And your eyes even! If you do not use them, I shall consider having them put out of your head and put into the Jubjub bird's next salad..." The Queen was squeezing Ilosovic tight,

"No! Majesty, forgive me. You must understand,"

"Must? Must I?" She set Ilosovic down rather forcefully. His knees buckled when he hit the table,

"Please understand," The librarian begged, his voice echoing off the glass walls, "Your Majesty, I assumed the boy was not here. I would have looked…however, I was under the impression that the boy did not know..."

"He still does not. Don't you dare assume a single something. It's why little boys get squashed. It's why I lose my temper. And it's how people lose their heads, sir." The Queen said while Ilosovic wondered and wondered what it was that he 'did not know'. The fish, who gulped before speaking finally voiced,

"Your Majesty," he looked up at the steaming Queen,

"What?"

"Shall I fetch a magnifying glass?"

"Three of the best." The Queen said, opening up the biggest book and then turning to the trembling Librarian, "Hold it up. I don't want to bend over." The man lifted the dusty volume, "Don't hold it so shakily."

"Shall I fetch a healer?" the fish suggested in his warbling voice,

"A healer shall do nothing for me. I need a Master of Potions and we have no such thing."

"Your Majesty, could-could you not ask your sister to aid you in this?" Ilosovic held his breath as the fish went on tentatively, for only the boy could see the gory red pigment that had begun to creep into the Queen's pale cheeks at the mention of Mirana. "It would not be a weakness, in the least. You could perhaps, if you would, exploit her abilities, Your Majesty…She is skilled in this art, so I've heard…" And the Red Queen turned to the fish,

"You have clearly lost your mind…" She took in a deep breath, "And so you shall lose your head! How dare you suggest such a thing!"

"Your Majesty, I only wished…"

"You will be executed tomorrow. Be gone." Then, she glared at the Librarian, "See him to the dungeons…"

"Oh, please! Oh please! I only meant…." The fish begged while he turned, "Master Doolius!" He gasped, going near to his friend, the Librarian, "No!"

"If he is not in a cell, bound and miserable when I decide to visit him later today, Master Doolius, it will be you who looses his head." The Queen said tartly, lifting her nose,

"Your Majesty…" the Librarian bit his lower lip and then exhaled, "As you command. Come, Wenston." The fish squealed and dropped to the floor. He flopped about wildly,,

"Pick him up by the tail. " The Queen suggested, glaring at Wenston the fish, "It will make things far easier." And the man picked up the crying thing by his tail. The fish's round glasses fell off of its nose and came to rest on the ground with a sad clink. The Librarian, his doomed assistant in tow, strode off and around the shelf of potted plants.

Ilosovic took this moment to glance at the open book on the table. It was resting at a page with tiny, tiny print. Suddenly the Queen called to the Librarian, who was already to the door,

"And send for a squire to bring us some magnifying glasses!" When the Queen turned back around to face the table, the wailing of the fish still reverberated off the amber glass of the Florarium until the glass door was closed.

"And now I have no one to hold my book…" the Queen whined, adjusting her sleeves,

"I could try."

"No, no, Ilosovic." Said the Red Queen, "Just wait a moment. I can do this, I believe." And she could. The lady braced herself, putting one hand down to grip the edge of the table and the other at the top of her forehead to hold up her colossal cranium. "Oh…" she groaned for a moment and then leaned forward to read the book. From where Ilosovic sat, the boy could see something gleaming that protruded from the monarch's collar. He swallowed a gasp when he realized that the Queen had three metal rods sprouting from the back of her dress. "What is it, Ilosovic?"

"Well…"

"Hm?" Her eyes were scanning the page, devouring the text. He knew she was in the worst of moods, but dared anyway. He could not hope to concentrate if he was wondering if the metal was pushing into her skull, or popping out from her shoulders or something horrible like that,

"Your Majesty, I have to wonder, because I care for you…" he fumbled softly, "The rods, at your neck, Your Majesty…are they…comfortable?"

"Do they look it?"

"No, Your Majesty, not at all. Which is why I was so saddened when I saw them…" in his years there, the young boy had learned particular tricks in dealing with the royal so that she did not think ill of him. He had seen many before him try to appease her and fail…and he had paid very, very close attention in such instances, "but I would hope that they might be, by some miracle."

"Well they've put a cushion just under my hair…" And Ilosovic was relieved when she said this. He had not noticed the little piece of red velvet just under the Queen's curls.

"And is it…a harness?"

"You could call it that. It isn't permanent. The rest is strapped around me, at my middle. It's just for a few more months, until I'm stronger. Now, shah."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The Squire and the magnifying glasses came shortly and the Queen instructed Ilosovic to do all sorts of things. She never said exactly what they were making, but he figured it had to be some sort of potion. There was a miniscule square tin, slightly smaller than a thimble, that Ilosovic had to fill with drops of this and that and pinches of pearly powders and shavings of sharp thorns and all sorts of little little things like that.

"The dust from a butterfly wing…Drat, drat…" The Queen said, "We don't have any butterflies there, do we, Ilosovic?"

"No." Ilosovic said, peering around at the tins and cups of ingredients on the table. The nub-nosed, young Squire had just come back from fetching her a cushioned stool when The Queen asked,

"Squire, catch a butterfly…there must be one in here. Be sure not to kill it. We'll do that here with a pin…"

They filled tin after tin and when the amber light through the glass faded and turned things in the Florarium a rosy pink from the glow of the setting sun, the boy's tiny stomach was roaring. Ilosovic was very hungry and the miniature concoction they had created smelled very nice after he had added drops of honey from the middle of a snapdragon and a tiny handful of moon sugar. It smelled, when he thought about it, like the pastries his father's cook used to bake for him all the time in his kitchen at home. And the potion looked more like a creamy batter than anything else…He dared not ask for a taste, though, not knowing what on earth it was and knowing exactly what strange things he had been asked to stir into it.

Finally, after they had filled three other little containers with similar ingredients (while the Squire took notes about the ingredients at the Queen's request), Ilosovic was brave enough to question her,

"What is all this for?

"Prisoners." The Queen said. He guessed she was lying, but he was not discouraged at this. Deep down he did not expect the truth. However, this only made his curiosity burn brighter…

"Is it poison?"

"Yes. Don't you dare take one sip of it. Not a drop. Not ever." Her tone had become quite serious and he felt the shadow of his dark eyes on him. All curiosity boiling within him froze over. "Do you promise?"

"I promise, Your Majesty. I do." He assured her, glancing at the little tins and their creamy contents, "Why would I ever want to drink poison?"

"I just want to be careful." The Queen told him, offering her hand for him to step up onto. He did and crawled across her fingers and onto her palm. She closed her gloved hand around him gently. "I never, never, never want to lose you, ever." And the Queen drew the young boy close and she kissed him with her great lips for the first time in months, right on the top of his little head. Now that he was not as young as he once was, getting a kiss from the Red Queen was sort of different…"I want you to be this way forever. Little and lovely and just as you should be." Ilosovic, from such a height, managed to look down and have a better look at the page of the book the Queen had been reading from. In swirling black ink at the top of the parchment the word 'Upelkuchen' was embellished,

They did not hear the door to the Florarium open and close. Those who entered the dim space had come silently before and gone silently before. Once they thought they were alone, however, the interlopers spoke softly. The Queen did not hear. She was pouring over the book again after having set Ilosovic down. The young boy was listening, though,

Someone had laughed, very quietly at the far end of the Florarium. Ilosovic didn't mind tattling. The more he tattled, the nicer the Queen was to him…

"Your Majesty." He whispered, putting a finger to his lips so that she would not speak too loudly.

"Hm?"

"There is someone else here." Ilosovic breathed to her, pointed towards where the little laugh had come from. She turned slowly, putting a hand on the Squire's shoulder to silence any questions he might have had. And when the Red Queen and Ilosovic listened very, very closely, they could hear someone murmuring,

"My dear, my dear…"

"Ahem!" The Queen sounded. And the Florarium fell very still, as if the dew on the leaves of the plants was afraid to drip. "Please, do come over here, whoever you are." And then there was whispering that echoed off the glass and the shuffling of feet. Ilosovic moved across the table and hoisted himself up onto the top of a container to stand on the copper lid. The Queen, he noticed, tapped a finger against the side of her skirts. That was not at all something that she did when she was going to be friendly.

A man, a soldier who Ilosovic had never seen before, dressed well with a young face and neat brow stepped out from around one of the shelves and behind him dawdled Fiore. She was pinning her hair back up, not looking at the Queen. Was she blushing so furiously? Or was that just the scarlet light coming in through the amber glass?

"And what, pray tell, is this? Lady Fiore. Sir Torrin…" And suddenly Ilosovic felt very badly. He felt more awful than ever.

"Your Majesty…" the soldier, Sir Torrin, began, "We were intending to…"

"How dare you!" The Queen roared, "How dare you even attempt to excuse yourself for such irresponsible and improper behavior!" And Fiore gasped and started crying and Ilosovic felt, at that moment, as if he wanted to drink the potions he had just brewed without caring what on earth would become of him, "I shall have your heads off. I have reason enough to believe the two of you have been engaging in horrifically unacceptable naughtiness. This is not proper for a lady in waiting and a foot soldier and shall not be tolerated! Of with their….""

"It isn't as it seems!" Torrin pleaded, dropping to his knees. His sunny face was screwed up in desperation.

"We are not, I assure you, in any way…" Fiore tried, her words getting stuck somewhere inside her throat,

"Then what are you doing? What could you possibly be doing that requires the two of you snooping around in my Florarium? Conspiring against me? Could you be?"

"No!"

"Then what, pray?!" The Red Queen stomped her foot. There was a dreadful, undying silence. And suddenly Ilosovic felt very different. Sir Torrin looked as if he were just a year or so older than the trembling and tear-stained Fiore. He was taller than her, well built, and had a blossoming patch of rouge on his left cheek where the lady in waiting had placed her kiss (The Queen had not noticed this, it seemed, or she would have mentioned it…). It was in that instant that Ilosovic felt very, very small and lied to. And something was wrong in his stomach, he thought, looking at Sir Torrin and the kiss upon his face. Ilosovic was surprised to find himself glad to have tattled. Fiore had not told him about any of this…

"Your Majesty!" Torrin begged quietly, his bright eyes wide,

"Off with their heads!"

"Ilosovic!" Ilosovic's lungs twisted around each other, for Fiore's dripping eyes had met his own. She was gasping for breath she was weeping so furiously. The Red Queen turned to the Squire and was about to say something when Ilosovic blurted,

"Majesty!" Everyone turned to look down upon the tiny boy. Ilosovic cleared his throat and tried to look into the scarlet face of the Queen, " Majesty…"

"What?" she replied with all the venom on her tongue,

"You may not believe this, but it is the truth…" his mind was a cyclone and he swallowed hard, thinking, thinking, thinking, "Torrin and Lady Fiore are helping me…"

"Really?" Her voice was strained and dangerously skeptical,

"Yes, Your Majesty." Said Ilosovic,

"Yes, Your Majesty!" echoed Fiore and Torrin,

"It was supposed to be a surprise," spat Ilosovic, "for you, Majesty!" Before the Queen could turn to the couple and interrogate them about it, Ilosovic went on, "I've missed you. I've missed you very much and I thought you might like a bouquet of flowers after your dinner…to be placed in your room. So I suggested that Fiore find a guard with the key to the Florarium…" He found it exhilaratingly easy to lie to her, "and collect the scraps that your royal florists were not intending to use."

And the silence that followed his tale was one of the longest silences that Ilosovic had ever had to endure in his young life. It was a silence that was far more dreadful than even the time when his mother was glaring at him for sticking pins in his brother's cat. It was a silence that was certainly worse than even the first time when the Queen had examined him in the gardens upon finding him after he had stolen her tarts….

The Queen's dark eyes swallowed the tiny boy next to the tins of creamy liquid. She drew in a deep breath,

"Ilosovic…" She smiled to him, "how incredibly sweet of you!"

It was dark in the gardens when Fiore carried him back to the palace. Ilosovic had never been in the gardens at night. All the emerald leaves were a glossy violet in the moonlight and the shadows on the arches were slanting and nasty. He pinched Fiore's finger when she would not address him. She squealed, stopping and nearly throwing the boy from her hand,

"How long have you been seeing Sir Torrin?"

"Ow! Oh, Ilosovic!" she huffed, "For a few months now…"

Earlier, the Queen had gone on ahead, escorted to dinner by a relieved Sir Torrin. They had all put the little tins to rest upon the tops of hot oil burners to boil (Ilosovic didn't know why) and Fiore and Ilosovic had cleaned the table up before they left to take their dinners in the kitchen,

"And why didn't you tell me?"

" I shouldn't have to tell you anything I shouldn't like to."

"But if you don't, I'll tell the Queen all the nasty things you've done."

"And if you'd do that, I'd tell her all the nasty thing that _you've _done!"

"But she likes me best!" Ilosovic shouted, wanting very much to be the proper size and to get honestly angry at the lady in waiting, "You'd have had your head off a hundred times over had I not helped you!"

"Then don't help me, Ilosovic. Why do you even bother keeping my head on my shoulders if you are so mean to me!?" And he paused so a watery-eyed Fiore answered for him, "Because you know I'm the only one who'd tolerate you? Because you know I'm the only person who bothers to talk to you? Because you know I stay up until you go to sleep because I know you don't want to meet that horrible cat again? Because I'm the only friend in Underland you could ever have?" He pinched her again and she looked at him sadly, "You wouldn't get angry if it weren't true." Ilosovic turned away from Fiore, sitting on her palm.

They walked in quietness for a minute or three. Ilosovic steadied his furious breathing and observed the garden. The grass was well trimmed and there were dark puddles of shadow on the lawn at twilight. It was colder, too, he thought. The night wind from the tundra could sweep over the wall and swirl around the shrubs.

Fiore sat down on a black, bench that had a brilliant luster of lacquer about it and set the little boy down beside her. Ilosovic sat as far from the lady in waiting as he could, letting his feet dangle over the edge of the seat. When he looked up, the moon was behind her head and it painted the outline of her head stardust white.

"Still…No matter why you did it," Fiore looked at her hands, which she had folded in her lap, "Thank you for helping me."

Ilosovic looked up at the girl. About a year ago she had been expected to powder her face with the rest of the women. After so much crying, her make-up had been ruined. Even so, Ilosovic discovered that he found her very nice looking. He told her,

"You're welcome…" and then the boy said, "But I'm still very cross with you. When you've been sneaking off with that soldier, did you ever worry that I'd wake and find you gone and call the Queen…"

"Yes! Every evening…"

"So you'd just leave me?"

"Don't take it personally, Ilosovic. I care about you, truly. I feel very responsible for you and I am honored I have such responsibilities, but…" And she looked at him with her dusty eyes, "But people do very silly things when they find they have affections for somebody…"

"Since I saved your life," Ilosovic interrupted her, standing up and ignoring the look on the girl's face, "will you tell me something?"

"What?" she sighed, turning away a little and gazing out at the garden,

"Upelkuchen. What's that?'  
"Upel….well…"

"It's what we were making today, wasn't it?"

"Was it?"

"Of course it was. I saw that in the book the Queen was reading for the…"

"Well, all right." She adjusted her skirt, smoothing it over her knees. Ilosovic thought that Fiore was very awful at lying, "But I've no idea what it does…"

"Sure you do."

"I don't. I really, really don't have the slightest idea, Ilosovic."

"Fiore…"

"Ilosovic, all right." And she looked up at the sky and then at him, "I know, for a fact, she intends to feed some of it to the prisoners."

"Well, why?"

"I don't know. She's trying to do an experiment, I think. I think…"

"Wait," Ilosovic said, nearing her, "You said she'd _feed_ it to prisoners."

"Yes, prisoners…"

"But we brewed potions. Shouldn't she give it to them to drink?"

"Well, you bake it and it turns into a little cake…" Fiore stood, "You've concocted the batter…"

"So you know how Upelkuchen is made but you've no idea what it does…." Ilosovic raised an eyebrow, looking right at her, "That's interesting."

"Ilosovic." Fiore said, offering her wrist for him to step upon. "Please. Don't be nasty."

"I won't be nasty if you don't go to see Sir Torrin tonight…"

"…and stay and be sure that the cat does not visit." Fiore said, with one of her slanting smiles,

"No." Ilosovic insisted, stepping onto her gloved hand and glaring up at the lovely girl, "…and stay so that you do not get into any more trouble. I don't want you running off without me being there to keep your head screwed tight to your neck." He was surprised when she laughed one of her tweeting little laughs, "What?"

"Oh, Ilosovic," Fiore chirped, starting off towards the castle, "You're very silly and sweet. I would hug you tightly if you were big enough."


End file.
